


johnny’s little birdie

by yellolemon



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Infidelity, Rough Sex, Smut, Some Fluff, and he’s a bit... coarse, big eyes wide shut energy in here, i always think abt john seeking redemption before his death, it sparked a poem which sparked this, mick jagger shows his pretty face for a second, oh and
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellolemon/pseuds/yellolemon
Summary: the dakota holds both solace and temptation in the eyes of a troubled man[lowercase!]
Relationships: John Lennon/Original Female Character(s), John Lennon/Yoko Ono
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	1. playlist

⚘🕊 ⚘  
—

I. FEMME FATALE  
the velvet underground; 

II. SHOPPING FOR GIRLS  
david bowie; 

III. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN  
(TO ELECTRIC LADYLAND)  
jimi hendrix; 

IV. YOU  
larry lovestein  
& the velvet revival; 

V. ACROSS THE UNIVERSE  
the beatles


	2. she lived downstairs

⚘🕊 ⚘  
—

three floors down. john caught her in the elevator once or twice. blue eyes stinging as she ascended behind the sliding gates. cutting at her face like a birdcage. in all of his years he'd never seen that strobe of sky blue on a face. it was the one closest to the sun, a companion to the rays. as dangerous as can be. 

but there was no secret that he leered anyway. she looked so coy in his gaze that it flattered him. and he couldn't escape the likes of her body, paganly slim and hopeful. her young legs lengthy and unforgiving. as he tangled with his wife on their way home from wherever, only wanting to be rid of their tiresome legs, needing no more distractions, she'd be on a stroll in the courtyard, long hair fanning about like ripples in a fine chestnut stream.

when they'd trudge to an open elevator equipped with the only might still left from their busy days, there she stood. time after time. the rouge smile she possessed laid plastered on her face, glossy and keen. holding the sliding gate open with one dainty silhouette, her remaining hand of thin pixie fingers ghosted above the seventh floor button. taunting. to yoko's dismay, he politely opted for the stairs.

there was no room for air when she writhed around, leaving signs of her intrigue and premature womanhood for him to linger by. her scent in the mailroom, muddy puddles from her rain boots on the tile in the lobby, a maintenance note on the bulletin calligraphied in purple pen. birdie. 

even her name had a hand in it. had a stake in this game. stirring him with a yearning so great, it rendered him vexed. his eyes danced to the elongated cursive rhythm, pursuing the jane the only way he knew how. the way of a husband who has one too many times deceived the bed of his wife. 

each morning he'd fasten the charming band on his finger, caressing the golden grooves with chastised fingertips. there, blossomed the crucible of devotion, fealty, and resistance. yet it slipped and slipped each night until it caught at the slope of his knuckle, and tumbled off completely.


	3. his party

⚘🕊 ⚘  
—

john could've filled a small circus with the amount of people trampling around his apartment. neighbors, friends, past lovers. their faces painted, heels high, sofas and dining chairs overthrown with coats fat with bank books and chains of keys. people laughed everywhere, filing in and out of rooms, touching, collecting in bunches wherever they roamed like shivering tadpoles guzzling brown liquors and red wines. everyone knew someone and someone knew everyone. 

except for her. birdie. 

the girl arrived shortly after julian bent his head to his father's mouth and was kissed goodbye. sean pattered along with him to celebrate the rest of his birthday week with an aunt, too young for such an old crowd. she appeared without knocking, without a proper entrance. slithered in past his sons; both alike and unalike him in their own sonly ways. but to her, they were as john as could be and she smiled jovially at them despite their quizzical eyes training after her, assessing her youthfulness as she glided down the hallway in her tall, beaming red heels. 

the man of the hour slouched on the couch untouched by the autumn dress, plastering on smiles with each new guest coming to congratulate him on forty. he supposed it was a sort of milestone. four decades worth of life, two of which were spent in the fat bosom of fame. it bought him his livelihood. he owed a lot to his lousy forty years. and, he would be excited, except he was already ancient, tired, and sapped dry. no longer fighting anyone but himself. 

eyes stone cold, mind unstable, big mouth full of drink though he promised not to touch that darling bottle again. always wet and thick in his palm, irresistible to supple men with supple minds. especially one who was two days past his birthday, caressing the grave with the fat of his big toe. he looked up from the glass he nursed and noticed his ravened wife was nowhere in sight. but just in his view, there was his resplendent vice, twinkling for him by the overhead light of the kitchen. swallowing his surprise, he hadn't felt the need to fully question her being there. he was already too joyous about her presence. 

in his rattled mind, she'd be the tongue to lick at his wounds when he'd fallen, relieving his ache with the opiorphin of budding saliva. 

she was plain tonight, he thought. as if she wasn't planning on coming. she hadn't done much to her hair, but it was brushed straight down her back. two light curls twirled like skinny fairies on her forehead, nearly caught in the thickets of mascara above glittering rose eyelids. john's stomach tightened as she scanned the crowded room. in search of him. 

when she'd caught his eyes, john sat the dewy drink on his thigh, inviting her to sit by him. she made her merry way almost immediately. it felt as if a light had opened on them. like a stage door appearing for him to slip aside and escape. he felt so teenage, rebelling with spite and seething with glory in his veins. nearly bubbling with reckless abandon.

that was until he heard a voice crooning closer and closer to the invisible globule he'd encased himself in. then it all went back to black. 

"what's wrong, man?" a boisterous brunette called, twitching his suited body as he walked. "i didn't come all the way here to sit around!"

john simpered endearingly, extending a hand to his wild friend. "mick!"

with a smack of their palms, they fisted themselves together causing john to abandon his post beneath the array of lost coats to stand with his friend. mick's big lips buried themselves in john's neck drunkenly as they hugged and birdie flashed into view again, stopped starstruck in her tracks.

"how are you feeling, john?" the question was sincere and merry, but there was only one way he could've thought to respond. 

"old!" he said with a laugh, turning his face to mick's again. mick gave a wide-eyed cackle and hooked his arm further around the small of john's waist, pulling him with warm hands away to wherever. john was sure mick had no idea where he was going, but he just knew, sullenly, that it was going to be away from his birdie. 

—

it was soon after midnight when the two found each other again; alone. john seemed to parade himself around the apartment with mick glued like a laughing pot of gold at his hip all night. he slithered by way of a chameleon, dipping past guests of all sizes and shapes, fastening himself to whoever touched his lazily drawn dress shirt first. he looked like a bum with the buttons popping from their hooks at all the places mick wrestled at. people grinned at him without artificiality, their eyebrows flying up in surprise to actually see the birthday boy. most of them imagined he had dodged his own party, which... wasn't too far off from what he wanted. 

"you keep that girl a' yours close, man," mick chided blindly with a poke at the chest. "you're blessed to have a wife, all these girls around here..." 

"yeah, mick," john nodded absently, his mouth suddenly dry as he steered a restless jagger to the exit. mick always made a point to slip away again as quickly as he appeared, departing early with a good luck kiss. he found the streets to be a more hospitable host for the rest of his rocky evenings in nyc, and yoko followed a few neighbors to their apartments, in awe at all of the worldly trinkets and bells they kept. a collector of pointless decor at heart. the rest of the guests danced out in a fog of wallets and smiling leather gloves, so he seemed to be alone once again, save a few ghosts still remaining idle nearby. 

at the large window overlooking the park, she sat at the sill, staring out at the night, mouth in a twist as if she was itching for something to consume. or reject. still, she was a model for the angels, gorgeous in the way she posed with her hands cupping a knee that was hooked over the other leg and swinging slowly. 

john admired her gracefully from afar. it was the slowest feeling he'd ingested all night. that sense of whirling in a sweet little way. but he knew he had to break this dreamy moment of silence somehow. before that door bursted open with disruption again. finding his way beside her, he took a seat at the other end of the window. the glass was cool against his skin. nothing like the new york cold. as he gazed below, he felt big. with the ant people cajoling on the street, the moon alight. he could see it all. 

"do ye' 'ave this view?" he peered after a while, too absorbed to really look at her. but she was definitely looking at him. everything in his face conveyed the aura of a tired man. of a worn man. an experienced man. she nodded her head, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. 

"mhm... not as high up, though." to her surprise, the words fell from her with ease. and to his, she sounded harder than he'd imagined. he caught a slight rasp that was earned with tobacco, but still no less fairylike. the vibrations lingered deeply after. an endless wave falling against his body.

"ye' parents know ye're up 'ere?" really, he wanted to know how she found out there was a party to show up at in the first place, but he didn't mind feeling optimistic about such universal gifts. he caught her eye this time. and, for a moment, her eyebrow twitched as if he had offended her. regardless of what she was mouthing to him, he knew he could have trailed inside those moonlit blues for miles. he always wondered why it was so easy for him to feel so dead so fast. he'd been dead for years. but there was always one trick to breathe into. one solitary way to bring that life back. 

birdie uncrossed her pale, twiggy legs and held the hem of her flowing lilac skirt so it fell higher upon her parted thighs. "i'm nineteen, actually..." john grew hot. "they don't care where i am," she begrudgingly mused, wandering onto how she meant to respond when she felt the gaze she wanted, that insinuating warmth against her skin. john wasn't sure if he wanted to wrap her up in a blanket and send her to bed, or coil her up inside his sheets. but that fine line did nothing except incinerate him further. 

her lips twisted again. she was rolling her tongue around in her mouth, pushing at her teeth and staring back out onto what was left of the expansive, dying green that was central park. "is mick jagger cool?" she asked, a hint of mischief following her. when he looked at her and laughed, she was smirking. with a shrug, he licked over his lips and crossed his own legs. 

"cool is cool an' mick is mick."

that was supposedly all the answer she needed, for she looked down and shoved the rest of her skirt over her knees again. john followed those painted fingers down and noticed she had opted for bare feet, the imprints of heel straps sealed pink rings around her ankles. 

hopping off the windowsill, she adjusted the thin jewelry hanging around her turtleneck. the gold chains seemed to add to the pinkish flower of her skin. a mother's mother's accessory. 

"my mom would die if she knew he'd been here. she loves the stones." 

"why- ye' aren't leavin' now, are ye'?" john's voice piped with a juvenile panic between creased eyebrows, which had thinned over the years of being overexposed to cynicism. birdie nearly squealed at his eagerness. but she only fluffed her fine nordic hair and shrugged her sharp shoulders mockingly. 

"curfew," she replied and pursed her lips in a grin, but he couldn't quite tell if she was just poking fun. "it was nice meeting you, though." 

john watched her curl away without even looking back to assess the wounded body she'd left behind. something told him, as she disappeared, that the blanket and sheet she inspired were both on one side of the same, lonely coin.


	4. the living room

⚘🕊 ⚘  
—

for days after, john drifted around in a sulk. some might say it was akin to lovesickness. it curved his appetite, put a blues in his song, and turned him away from yoko, who, on a good day couldn't even keep up with the bull that possessed her husband's libido. at first, there was a relief. the poor woman had to practically clamber up out of their bed to avoid john in the days leading up to his birthday. she didn't realize men had such a second awakening until then, so she was grateful for the break. but eventually, it grew into a bitterness for her company. his kisses felt forced, unconscious. his touches felt like more of a misstep than the loving caress he adorned her with most days. something bit him, she thought, but she wouldn't let her animosity grow. and she surely wouldn't allow him to discover she felt him sigh so loudly with the moon. a phase it was. sure. that was it. another dramatic performance she had to muster. so, she left. as she had done before. just for the night, she told him. away on quick business somewhere in philadelphia. 

he heard the grand door seal as she shut it. followed by her pattering feet down the hallway. ripe like rain. he settled his glasses on his face and sat back down on his homey white couch, free of coats. there was a grace about him soon after. but it didn't filter out completely. something heavy still persisted. pulling down, down, down like the warble of a stone sinking through a river current. 

then, a knock at the door. and another. a tune of light knuckles. a soft rapping. like tweeting. chirping. 

the door was a blur, but his hand did undo the locks, twist the knob clockwise, and open his home to the world like a present. standing before him, wrapped in a large green blanket, was birdie who puffed two strands of hair from her silken lashes and leaned forward pleadingly. "my heat's broken... can i come in?"

john had no other choice in this circumstance but to accept despite the worry that began to arise within his chest. it seemed that the odds were weighing too well in his corner. with the culprit splayed before him, he wasn't sure how much composure he could hold before the dynamite yawning within him blew. 

the girl made her way inside with familiarity and nodded her thanks as john shut the door again. immediately her feet of black socks carried the bundle of green to the window and she curled herself right up on the sill. it wasn't nearly dark yet, only about three p.m., but the sidewalks were bare and the trees blew untamed. 

"i really do appreciate this," she said and flicked her head toward where she believed john to be. he rocked steadily at the door still. in disbelief at his luck. could he call it luck? 

finally he moved to the kitchen and began plucking around the cabinets for drinking glasses. "can i get ye' anythin'?" indeed, he was a fine host when the house wasn't brimmed full of invitees needing to be hosted. birdie tilted her head back and shut her eyes. he had already gathered two tall glasses between his fingers and they plinked together on the counter. as he poured himself a swig of brandy, birdie craned to look at him and the dark drink as it was chucked back down his throat. 

"water is fine for me, thanks," she smiled, and he obliged with a full glass, carrying it to her with a stiff hand. 

"ye' never know..." john sighed, "with the heat and all. all the money ye' bloody spend on a place like this..."

"yeah... it's alright, though," she mused with a shrug. "besides... i like your view better." he found a winking glimmer in her eye when she spoke, holding the cool glass with both hands in her lap. they smiled at each other, solidifying the ritual of their meeting place as john sat in the remaining space by the window. 

she wasn't in school. didn't find it fascinating enough even when she found herself smack in the middle of the free love residue and pills of all colors. she made art. lived off of museum curator parents who loved her and rolled with various high school friends when they finally got leases around the city. it was a life to her. the rocking life without a guitar or a will to scream about the world. 

"you're the first one," she said quietly as she sipped mindlessly from the glass, "i've never met anyone famous before."

famous. for a bit john had forgotten the ways in which he lived. his mind was so occupied in her and the cool way her stories weaved into connections of his own. he wasn't john lennon the way others saw him when the two of them talked and her eyes strayed around his old face. he was john lennon, her neighbor on the top floor. with the view of central park. 

he smiled in a humble way and folded his arms at his chest, crossing his leg. man, had he grown thin. the button down he wore gave enough room to fit two of him and then some, his white jeans barely clung to thighs. there was enough cold breeze for the entire population to feel when he perused the streets in leftover hippie bootcuts . birdie didn't take much notice to any discrepancies in his body frame, however, for she had begun to stare around the apartment. it was freer than it had been before when all of those people roamed it. she could see the hardwood and paneled walls and white carpet all around. a pair of black wire lips appeared above a chunky record player at the front and little lamps stood atop side tables and desks. tall green plants grew on the patios outside and by the light of the kitchen. the space felt so old and cluttered. stacks of old books, stacks of spices, stacks of records. she loved it. wasn't too different from the sculptures and artworks she roomed with. 

there was a scent of vanilla in the air. and sweat. john was keen on sweating. especially when a beautiful bird like her flew into his apartment and grew fond of him. she came down from the window and set the half empty glass down in her place. she no longer needed the blanket, really, but she was comfortable enough to leave it draped around her shoulders. he joined her as she stood, facing her in an intimate way. lost in her eyes and the part of her lips, he watched her face, felt her breath when she looked up at him. he drew closer. 

l"could i put a record on?" she asked him as if that was the only thing left on her mind. before she could be certain what she was there for. 

"be my guest," john replied lowly after dodging his eyes from the front door to her face again. birdie only nodded and closed the ends of the blanket tighter around her body as she moved to the living room. 

john hadn't noticed the gold that began to illuminate the apartment. they must've been talking for a while, the sun was setting. he checked the sidewalk below, hoping for his gaze to avoid yoko. and still he hoped she would return so he wouldn't have to go through with this fire rocking at his hips and floating upward more and more by the minute. 

birdie discarded her blanket at the base of the record player. and he found her from behind, anointed in a baby pink slip dress that curved bewitchingly at her hips and flowed above her thighs. every knot and sector of her breathed lure. as if she bathed her darling figure in it. she shifted her weight onto one hip and tapped a large vinyl sleeve against her knee while floating the needle to the edge of the record. it revolved a few times when she sat it down, stirring the volume notch until you could hear a passionate rumbling from the grooves. 

and the gods made love. 

she flicked her hair over her shoulder and looked behind her. a cigarette dangled from her lips and john noticed his pack of marlboros was skewed open on the coffee table. birdie plopped her body down on the couch like a magazine pixie and looked up at him. "got a light?" she grinned, the cigarette erecting between her pearly teeth. 

"ye' shouldn't be smoking," john grumbled matter-of-factly and snatched the flimsy pack to toss over to the wooden table by the kitchen. "that stuff ruins ye' face, y'know. ye're too pretty fer that."

birdie giggled and snaked her body around in a sensual dance as the music swelled. she still played with the white stick in her mouth, taking it between her fingers and sucking at nothing but dreams. the light in the apartment began to dim. all around them was the bright whining of electric strings, painting the walls with orange and fog. john flicked the living room lamp on and, against his better judgment, sat beside her as she removed her socks. 

"john?" birdie said. 

"hm?" 

she took the cigarette from her mouth and threw it on the coffee table. john watched as it rolled a little, sticking with the heat of her lipgloss along the glass top. "why'd you let me in here?" he could feel her eyes on him, leaning closer. 

"ye' were cold," he answered plainly with an honest smile. but his heart began to sprint. each strum and thump of the record sprung his lungs into hyperdrive. his skin crawled with prickles of chills as her delicate hand cupped his arm and she leaned her head against it. he fought away the thoughts of yanking her from him. he couldn't really do it. he looked at her and chuckled nervously, an act he played before the curtains arose and he looked to ravish once more. then those gluttonous eyes followed after her as she stood up. she could see the heaving of his chest.

she bent over and grabbed his thighs in both hands. their faces mingled close. those lips burned cherry red like wine and tainted the blue of his dreams, the band of silver in his wake. he already felt drunken on her soft, intoxicating breath. as she hovered away from him, his eyes stayed low while hers remained transfixed on his thinly parted lips. she was perfumed in crackling amber, nothing like her age. and her face was so sweet, he thought, painted with red along her cherubim cheeks and glistening like mars upon her puffy lips. glittering lashes... all done up for him. 

in a bold sweep, her blissfully wet tongue slipped slow into his mouth and she kissed him, though he neglected to return the touch for his mind was in a graying haze. unhinged in the music and dance of the band, it imposed upon his senses completely. 

ladyland... 

"don't you wanna know?" she asked with an unforgiving pout, pulling back while he sat still, his throat burning. 

"what?" he whispered.

"what it tastes like..."

something of an angel echoed far, far away from the world he now resided. taste. 

taste. 

taste. 

taste. 

"o'course i do," he replied. should he have hesitated? why, when he needed her kiss more than life? 

he couldn't see quite well, for his glasses had suddenly fogged, but she smiled triumphantly and stood upright to uncurl the tiny straps from her shoulders and slip off her dress right in front of him. standing there in his living room. 

shit. he thought. 

this would end in eucatastrophe. something splendid. ever-bright. he would feast the way he wanted, unabated and long. his long hand caressed her waist and cupped the blanketed nerves of her body. he had already had her twelve thousand times in his head. what was he to do with her now? now that his trophy was mounted on the wall and his name had been plaqued in gold at the foot of it.

one thing was for certain, he jeered. 

her heat was never broken.


	5. touch her

⚘🕊 ⚘  
—

she wanted him. from the first time they locked eyes, he was all she dreamed of. with the darkness pulling at her like every tip of her flesh held strings, she'd strain her young thighs on top of her sheets, and pull away with wet fingers, quivering. all from the thought of him and his legendary face. his auburn hair had grown longish again, curling and swerving around his head and stubbled neck. she itched to take the wisps between her fingers as he opened her mouth and cheeks to feverishly wet kisses. his nose, which had grown thin and strong above his smile of twisting front teeth gave her shivers to imagine it between her legs, plunging along her wet waves. and those weary eyes of gold, always shaded in the sun behind wide frames of black and tan. she wished they would watch her, both legs spread for him to suffer for, for her to cry into as they both tumbled away to ecstasy. 

john stood to grab her, their lips colliding in a savagely manic way as she glued her naked breasts to his clothes. his tongue broke through the gates of her teeth and felt her mouth, tasted the moon and sun, gasped and whined into her body like she was the only thing that could rejuvenate the likes of him. his hand caught the small of her back and dug his nails into the spine, the other slipping past the band of her soft panties, thin and loose around her skinny hips. her skin was ignited and aroused with pulsing visuals like rings of color and heat around the blacks of her eyelids. the wedding band locked around his finger dug into her, cold and hard. she tried to suck along his tastebuds as her arms flew around his neck and her hands felt the gratifying straightness of his waves, but he tugged away and sighed with his forehead against hers. 

thoughts of black eyes, thoughts of sunlight, thoughts of the key turning within the lock and pushing into a scandal. for the first time in a remarkable while, he imagined his submissive cynthia. and the ankles he raised while still wed to her. his chest and shoulders radiated with a tinging, anxious light, as if it was that which had forced him off her. but it did nothing. their bodies still stood entangled together, her nipples still prodded against the thin of his shirt and found themselves tickling at his ribs. he felt every bit of her, writhing to be caressed. desperate for him. her eyes were teary and beaming, the pink of her tongue about to overflow over her plush bottom lip, delectable with his spit. he had to fulfill her. 

there was a dizzy warping being carried by jimi's record that john knew had festered within him before. the vocals entranced the pair, birdie still combing through john's hair in a dance of the fingers. her nails formed tiny seashells prickling along his neck, tickling him like a rocking boat at the docks of paradise. 

a thought bubbled at the front of his brain. a desire, really. to see the year of 1983 and smile, remembering the fertile crescents he would visit tonight. 

annoyed with his inconsistency, birdie whimpered and pulled his lips, unaware, back down to hers until the blood filled her face with a red and lively greed. he allowed her this satisfaction, but pulled back once more to admire the glisten around the corners of her mouth. 

"come 'ere," he lured, walking backwards to lead her into a dark room with a tall ceiling and ancient goods all around. the bed was large and white. the streetlights from the park made it hospitable without light, somehow. 

"take those off," he commanded again in that same soft, yet absent tone, taking his glasses from his face and setting them down. she felt the space between her breasts open just slightly with the nerves she so suppressed all night. her heart pumped so full now, her fingers shook; naturally taking the deep red fabric down her legs as he observed with a carnal heat. she stood to attention again when the underwear left her bare. fallen, lifeless on the cool wood below. 

her breasts sat keen and perked, blushing along her chest. blood hadn't yet pierced her nipples, but they were still shadowed with goosebumps around her areoles which were a tiny pale pink that he adored and now wanted painted all over his skin. 

his eyes stayed watching her fumble with her anxieties. dark and cool, they sat beneath sheets of crescent lashes bending far to her body. darling. they whispered. come to me, on your knees. and beg.

john loosened the front of his belt, his large hands grooming the metal buckle as it lifted and gasped apart. birdie attentively fell to her bare knees with a sinful look in her eye that screamed determination and demand for approval. her head fell nicely below his pelvis, easy enough for her hair to be toyed with and mangled without strain. his thin penis sprung from behind the cloth of his underwear as they, along with his jeans were pushed off, dragging down with the weight of his belt and slid to the side expertly. her hands lifted the hem of his button down to make way for the bush of dark fluff that sprouted all around his inner thighs and lower belly. she took him all in her mouth in one sliding motion, his shaft like a magnet leaning heavy on her tongue. oxygen trapped in his throat quickly, a wave of sweat blowing along his hairline and simmering down the back of his neck in an agonizing line. as her head came forward, she tightened the heavens of her lips and caressed the curls beneath her thumb with the rhythm of her movements, leaving the back of his thighs to tremble wanly. 

her mouth was glorious and she knew it. her deft action was a sign of a girl who could never be satisfied on the back window of an old, stuffy dodge with high school boys. one who always met an older colleague with intrigue, logging them down for future fantasies and a restless pining. one with posters all around of rocking men in their youth who fed on girls for fuel and esteem. 

those blue moon eyes lingered wide now as she suckled, dribbling down her chin as he bent a section of her hair in his palm and goaded until her nose met his skin and the back of her throat opened against his soft head with a gag. he imagined she was used to this. or that she wanted to be. behind her twittering pupils, she was going blind with submission. her brain slowed down to efficiently function through forgetting how to breathe, while her jaw continued to work. she was nauseous with lust, dumb with passion pearling like erronea between her thighs. and john was beyond hard now, tight and warm in ways he'd missed and saved for her. he pushed at a point in her shoulder that caused her to release him and she remained on her knees, panting as he unbuttoned his shirt and stripped out of it. he stood her up again, a stale taste still lingering behind her tongue when he pecked her lips. 

he'd rubbed her lips nearly raw by the time he'd explored the rest of her. she cupped his face as he sat down on the bed, the sheets cushioning him in familiar, yet painful places. her knees felt the edge of his mattress, suiting herself between his spread legs. he wet her nipples with his tongue, flicking and sucking at her until it popped red against his teeth like a toughened stem vibrating along his lips. she shuttered, furrowing her thin, glistening brows as the thick of his tongue shocked the rest of her all the way down to her core. when he moved to the other nipple, her hips ached from standing, desiring to fall in his lap and be handled the way she imagined he would beneath the stars of her own bedroom. with his hands squeezing on the back of her thighs, he felt a bliss of knowing her body. he kissed her ribs and caught the lavender aroma beneath his nostrils, filtered the moans and sighs of yearning within his musical ears. 

without a further glance, he pulled her into his lap, noticing the touch of light pubic hair against his stomach. she was surpassing relief to the point of near pain as she throbbed down to the pith of her need. both tips of their sex pressed tight to the each other in an instant. her soft cry of pleasure led him to wrap an arm around her bottom and rock their hips together. his arms went damp, the front of his chest dripping with perspiration from birdie clamping herself to him. they moaned decadence into each other's shoulders until birdie's clit was so pressured that she seeped endlessly from her core until john's shaft soon slipped between the spread of her folds and caught a glimpse of her powerful gulf. he needed her bad. 

he flipped them over and pinned the girl down on his bed. it felt cool to the touch under the soft flesh of her back and molded to the rut of her white shoulder blades. birdie flexed her pretty fingers under john's hold, her lips parted in a lusting conviction. but john looked at her now in a way she hadn't seen yet. a stare meant to devour. to conquer. out of all of the events that played out before her tonight, this one felt the heaviest. the lightness in her began to fade. 

he opened her to his passion, leaving one of her limp wrists to push her thigh to her breast with a throaty grunt. the way he moved her about felt routine, like tuning guitars or penning a quick lyric. his silence and strength during it all left her speechless, and her eyes flickered from his stern face to between their bodies. through her amazement, she couldn't ignore that he wound her up so easily. that she was getting what she dreamt of. 

john's stomach tightened as he balanced himself against her entrance, so visible and quivering. he slid inside without any second thought and buried himself in, both of birdie's legs twitching violently as her chest caved and a loud draw flew into the air from deep, deep down in her orbits of senses; where pleasure and pain mingled by a ripe fire. he released her leg so it cuffed his shoulder and sank lower, casting a fast gaze between them, so he could watch himself disappear within her brightness. 

soon, he was only chasing life. saw it shining before it him like diamond waiting to be picked out and savored. he had an eye for that. for redemption and honor and glory. as he throbbed within her, he saw the key in her eyes. those pretty angel eyes. he crooned at how badly she wanted it, how she wanted him and only him. and she was beautiful. the form her walls maintained was instantly gratifying, like elastic. he pummeled against her wetness without remorse, without conscious. and she was squealing beneath him, grabbing at his arms and tangling his skin in her grip, hips thudding against her in a rapture too quick to bare. her thighs trembled, her chest rumbled through quake after quake, breasts shaking like orbs of pink lava, erupting in a savage way she felt she could bite into. it only grabbed hold of him tighter, the thought of taking her right where he slept. with the pillow of his wife above her moaning head. 

john was gone, eyes and face scrunched to the wall. she looked up at him with a veil of apprehension over her eyelids, wondering if he'd ever come down. there was no longer a feeling she could describe beside exhaust. a pounding exhaust. he was pressing painfully onto her leg, deep within her, looking as if he was one thrust away from bursting into flames. it was so quick, it was all too quick. he was married, had children, had a home. but he would leave her. he would leave her. he would leave her. 

he started panting hard, swearing loud, chanting faithless things against the darkness as if they were at one with their thoughts, though birdie knew he was far from any semblance of consciousness. and all she could do was watch as he sucked the air and dreams from her fragile body. it was pooling. all of it at once. the emotion, the heartbreak, that teeming unease to watch a man forget the body he laid with so quickly. her stomach churned and blue light flooded the plains of her groin. in a sudden jerking motion, her body twisted and cried out hoarsely, blindsided by the stunning orgasm that shook through her and pinched every inch of john until he finally looked down and swept out of her, leaving her emptier than any man had before. a hot dripping cooled upon her thigh moments later. but she only stared at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe. 

but she couldn't. she couldn't even move. all over her there was trembling. a rubble of skin and bone. raw. john sat back on his heels and seemed to find a mirror within the palms of his hands. shifting his head back and forth in the nightlight, he could feel himself stiffen with apology. birdie's legs were spread, her center red and slick, her skin boiling. he leaned over her, full of concern, and kissed her cold lips. she only blinked at him, body too used to do much in the way of anger. 

there was silence in the living room. and silence on the street. birdie felt tears slip along her cheeks and dip into a shelf of her ear. it was cold. it was all cold. and she wanted her blanket.


	6. a better man

⚘🕊 ⚘  
—

engulfed in smoke, they simmered. naked with bellies full of infidel, though limp and lagging in every way. he tried to have her again, the mouth of his cigarette kissing her cheek as he held her face, his lips on her neck. still thumbing at her nipples until they'd perked again. but she just asked him for a cigarette, and he allowed her one. the sight of him was no longer appealing to her. 

"i wanted 'er to go with other men, y'know," he confessed after a silence. he didn't lift his head from her shoulder. she was now motherly. he would suckle her until her sympathy ran dry, and he was left alone. 

"well, i don't want to take you from her," birdie stated honestly. it didn't scorn him, though. he wouldn't have wanted her to. she was too young and pretty to be messed up by a guy like him. the sky was black outside, but john twisted his wrist under the lampshade to comfort birdie's crying and kept it on. it didn't hurt either of them to befriend honesty now. an unspoken contract instructed that there would be nothing further in the realm of intimacy like this. she sipped at the filter of her cigarette, trembling lungs fogging to grey. 

it must've been around eight, john thought, catching a speck of dried semen crackling yellow around her inner thigh. he'd have to replace the sheets before yoko came back. 

the whole room stunk of disappointment. of wishing to rewind. tapes forever reeling backward. long strips of black film whizzing behind their eyes like clockwork. john remained silent for a long time. recalling what it must've been like to roll around in the womb. there hid a fascination with it for so many years. was it rebirth he desired, or something else? we are in life as we are in blackness. gutless and fretful, making wrong turns and false stops. there was really no difference. a tuft of ash staggered down to the floor as he flung his arm away and coughed into it.

birdie brought her thighs to her chest, watching his throat seize. "you kind of hurt me, you know?" she pried through a broken whisper. and he knew, her eyes conveyed it well enough. it shattered him. birdie supposed he was mournful for he looked too scared to feel her again. but she felt no anger now, just a confusion fused chafe in her soul. all she wanted was to be felt by him. and loved right. she hadn't realized he was incapable. 

he ashed his cigarette against the bedside tray made of brazilian white clay. manipulated and dried to form a round canal. all you need is love was carved in the middle in red. he sighed again. "i know."

their eyes met, still beautiful to each other. john turned on his side and flexed one leg so his foot perched on his knee. he could never sit right. couldn't love right, couldn't think right. it was if he would never change. so irreversibly in shambles that everyone else around him had to be too. 

"i wish i hadn't," he voiced soon after and birdie felt over him to crush her smoking white stub against the ashtray. they paused in thought for a moment, frozen in time above and below one another. with a twitch in her face, she hugged him, falling onto his flat chest and burying her cheek into his sheltering arm. tender below the foot of swarthy galaxies. they wrapped around each other with cacophonies of a sad joy moving through them. john kneaded his tongue along his front teeth and wet his lips. i'm going to leave her, he said. cocoon himself for the better. walk the streets accessorized with delighted eyes. fall into the stars anew. to his surprise, birdie laughed, her body grooving along his body until they both laughed with straining necks and chortling bellies like desperate fish upon a dry dock.

then they laid for a while in that lazy, giggling lump. before birdie decided she had to go home. "curfew," she warned again, playfully, dragging her wilted body from the other like she was dragging soft petals along paper. it settled gently within her that she had no other way to love him. 

john was left unmoved on his back again. afraid that he'd drop through the floor if it were to find itself beneath his feet. 

"what's ye're real name?" he asked while her legs dipped through the holes of her underwear. she tugged the back so it formed evenly along her bottom, a slight discomfort contorting her face whenever she dabbed between her legs. but she smiled softly after the pain faded, arms like strings crossing below her breasts. 

"dakota," she replied, eyebrows lifting as if she knew he wouldn't believe her.

"will i ever see ye' again?" he ventured once more. his front teeth bubbled from between his budding lips and she saw the pearls of his youth. 

smoothing out her tussled hair, she shrugged. "you know where i live."

then a sad smile flickered toward him as she dazed into the hallway, the world slow and fuzzy as she disappeared from his unaided view. a clothed dash of green and black feet unlocked the front door moment's later, and flew off.

—

in the pendulous daylight, john waited alone as he had been for hours; following the waxing and waning of the high sun on the floor as it was eclipsed behind clouds. he pictured birdie and her parents. her running back to confess it all. ruining him before he'd even truly began. she wouldn't. he hoped she wouldn't. and yet, he didn't recoil at the thought. let them come. burn him down. set his home and livelihood alight. at least he'd be starting over in an unknown elsewhere. at least he'd be new. 

his mind still turned over his words. what he would say when yoko arrived home safe. how he could possibly explain the revelation that led him to need her gone. 

"yoko..." john rehearsed, hands twiddling in his lap, still naked. "i think..." he released himself from the sheets and found reasonable plainclothes to wear.

"i've been thinking... yoko. it's time." he tuned his glasses to his face and dressed. staring in the bathroom mirror, he widened his mouth and scrunched his nose. the telling wrinkles in his skin didn't quite leave his face when it fixed again. like rings to a stump. 

"my dear... my dear, my dear... i think-"

a key in the lock. the door pushing open. hesitant steps within. "john?" a rattling voice called. "why's the door unlocked? john?"

a tall body emerged creeping from the bedroom. streaking cheeks full of tears. yoko paused in shock, hands nesting in her husband's fine hair as he came before her and plummeted helplessly to his knees. "what is it, darling?" she cooed, her fair face anxious. he pressed childishly against her pant leg and sobbed, holding tight to her thigh. 

"i had her..." john wheezed after a long time. "she was young and she was brave an' i had her... and i'm awful, yoko... baby, i'm awful. rotten... dirty, son-of-a-bitch. i shouldn't have done it! i shouldn't have! i love ye', darling. baby, i love ye'..." he wiped his snotting nose against her, hot, briny tears washing away the early philadelphia smog. when she took her hand from his head, his eyes jetted up at her wildly. don't leave me, oh, don't leave me, he begged through a sorrowful quivering face. 

but yoko's face was unstirred. those big, hollow eyes blinked softly, breathing quietly and earnest. she heaved a heavy, wifely sigh. 

"i know, john. i know."

— fin—


End file.
